


two lives torn apart, one second from now

by izzetboilerworks



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 18:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzetboilerworks/pseuds/izzetboilerworks
Summary: Ian has the memory of a thousand life times.





	two lives torn apart, one second from now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saddestboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/gifts).



> thanks to a. for the quick beta.
> 
> title is from hessian peel by opeth.

Ian has the memory of a thousand life times. They press against the base of his skull like a constant pressure, like a migraine, like something he can never get relief from. Even when he’s on the field, there’s whispers and echoes. 

He thinks—

_He made a mistake, back then, in Texas. Surprise and_ knowing _make him press his fingers into tight curls, and the ragged edges of his nails catch against his scalp. Salty smiles like having the heat of the sun direct on his face and it’s too much._

_But he doesn’t know._

He thinks he made a mistake. 

There’s fragments of memories, they scatter like someone’s tossed them in his head. Misshapen puzzle pieces that connect at odd times. Ian thinks—

_He’s a soldier, but he doesn’t know where. His fingers freeze and he struggles with the muzzle loading on an old musket. And Jarrod’s curls are like a halo in the tent next to him. And his laughter sounds like a ringing bell that reverberates and Ian can’t help but abandon the lead ball and gun powder and slide under scratchy woolen blankets._

_And Jarrod’s hands are big and warm as they touch his skin, warm Ian’s fingers, then slide under his cloth shirt._

Ian knows and Salty _doesn’t know_. 

And it’s not like the times before, when Ian can look at Salty and see him waiting—see him looking. See him wanting. 

_The laurel of leaves sets at a jaunty angle and his thighs are thick and powerful, corded muscle under the white toga. He’s not focused on the woman beside him, he looks at Ian and his blood boils._

Salty looks at Ashley like he looked at him. Like he doesn’t look at him in this life. In Texas, they’d been young and stupid, Ian had—Ian does what he always does and he goes to him. Ian shakes his own walls down and lets himself be open to Salty. 

Lets him open him. And it hadn’t felt the same, in Texas, like it does in the endless parade of lifetimes they must have shared together before. 

When they meet again, in Detroit—it’s good it’s just the year. Ian wants to be vulnerable. To let himself give everything but he’s standoffish, this time. Because Salty likes him, maybe loves him, but he doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t look at Ian like he usually does. 

Salty reaches out; Ian can’t give over to it in a quiet sort of way he realizes that this lifetime is a wash. And maybe next time they see each other again, Salty will love him again. Will love him and _know_.


End file.
